The trees are all naked, the bushes are bare, And the fields are as brown as if Winter was there; But the violets are there by the dykes and the dell, Where I played "hen and chickens" and heard the church bell, Which called me to prayer-book and sermons in vain: O when shall I see my own valleys again? The churches look bright as the sun at noon-day; There the meadows look green ere the winter's away; There the pooty still lies for the schoolboy to find, And a thought often brings these sweet places to mind; Where trees waved and wind moaned; no music so well: There nought sounded harsh but the school-calling bell. There are spots where I played, there are spots where I loved, There are scenes where the tales of my choice where approved, As green as at first, and their memory will be The dearest of life's recollections to me. The objects seen there, in the care of my heart, Are as fair as at first, and will never depart. Though no names are mentioned to sanction my themes, Their hearts beat with mine, and make real my dreams; Their memories with mine their diurnal course run, True as night to the stars and as day to the sun; And as they are now so their memories will be, While sense, truth, and reason remain here with me. LOVE LIVES BEYOND THE TOMB Love lives beyond the tomb, And earth, which fades like dew! I love the fond, The faithful, and the true. Love lives in sleep: 'T is happiness of healthy dreams: Eve's dews may weep, But love delightful seems. 'T is seen in flowers, And in the morning's pearly dew; In earth's green hours, And in the heaven's eternal blue. 'T is heard in Spring, When light and sunbeams, warm and kind, On angel's wing Bring love and music to the mind. And where's the voice, So young, so beautiful, and sweet As Nature's choice, Where Spring and lovers meet? Love lives beyond the tomb, And earth, which fades like dew! I love the fond, The faithful, and the true. MY EARLY HOME Here sparrows build upon the trees, And stockdove hides her nest; The leaves are winnowed by the breeze Into a calmer rest; The black-cap's song was very sweet, That used the rose to kiss; It made the Paradise complete: My early home was this. The red-breast from the sweetbriar bush Drop't down to pick the worm; On the horse-chestnut sang the thrush, O'er the house where I was born; The moonlight, like a shower of pearls, Fell o'er this "bower of bliss," And on the bench sat boys and girls: My early home was this. The old house stooped just like a cave, Thatched o'er with mosses green; Winter around the walls would rave, But all was calm within; The trees are here all green agen, Here bees the flowers still kiss, But flowers and trees seemed sweeter then: My early home was this. MARY APPLEBY